Comédie et Tragédie
by April Rane
Summary: After the worst chapters of their lives, two people begin to move in different directions with the same destination. R/R, rating change. NOW ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.
1. MADAME ET MONSIEUR

_a/n I know I said it may be a while, but this just came to me. Again, not sure where I'm going entirely, but I have lots of general ideas. Wish me luck! I'll probably write more at the beginning to get myself going, then it'll likely slow down. Enjoy!_

**CHAPTER 1—MADAME ET MONSIEUR**

The small apartment now inhabited by Marie Giry was cold in the winter. Today was no exception. Clutching her shawl around her shoulders a bit more tightly, Marie stared out the window, looking for Meg. It was near dark, and she was worried that Meg may not make it home before night fell. At that moment, the sound of footsteps on the stairs met her ears. The door opened and Meg entered, her face red and raw from the wind and cold. She removed her coat and hung it from a peg next to the door, then removed her shoes and sat down in front of the roaring fire.

"It's so cold out," she said, her teeth chattering slightly. "I was beginning to think I'd turn into an ice chunk."

Marie smiled, holding out a blanket. "I suppose Jacqueline won't be joining us for dinner, then."

"No, she said she would be here at six-thirty." Meg wrapped the wool blanket around her shoulders. "If only we could get him to make conversation, I think he would like her."

At that moment, the door opened again. Unspeaking, a man entered, removed his cloak and hat and hung them from the door. He stood awkwardly for a moment in the door frame holding a bag in one hand, and a white paper package that seemed to be bleeding slightly in the other.

"Ah, you've brought dinner." Marie crossed the little sitting room to take the dripping package from his hand, but leaving the bag in his hand. "Bring that to the kitchen, won't you?"

The little kitchen was cramped and warm from the small stove sitting in the corner. A loaf of just-baked bread sat on a counter top. Marie patted the table. "You can set that there. I hope you grabbed potatoes..."

Reaching in, the man removed half a dozen potatoes and placed them on the counter before reaching over Marie's head and into the cabinet, pulling out a decanter of gin. Marie frowned.

"Don't get into too much of that," she warned, taking a knife from a holder next to the bread and unwrapping the beef. "Jacqueline is coming for dinner."

He took a swig and grimaced. "I wish you'd stop trying to set me up with her."

"You'd prefer another woman?" Marie's eyes were sharp and there was a warning tone in her voice. "You need to move on—it's been over a year."

"I know," he muttered, putting the gin back in its corner of the cabinet after taking a last swig.

"You won't find a woman more forgiving than Jacqueline." The knife moved swiftly, cubing the beef before it was dropped into a pot of simmering liquid. "She could care less."

"Why is she so forgiving, does she have indescretions of her own?"

Erik Laroche jumped slightly as Marie's knife slammed into the wooden cutting board and she glared at him. "You will make conversation with her tonight, or so help me..." She lost her words, looking furious with him, and she went back to chopping. "Be glad you aren't one of these potatoes right now," she muttered.

Despite himself, Erik chuckled. "I'd rather be one of those potatoes than be forced to make conversation with Jacqueline Garnier."

"You have more in common with Jacqueline than you realize. You realize that her uncle is building the new opera, don't you?"

Erik scowled at the mention of the opera. "I would not care to discuss the opera, above anything else."

The potatoes finished, Marie sighed, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned to face her old friend. "Erik, you must move on. You said yourself that you were grateful for Christine's happiness, and Meg gets letters from her from time to time. She seems happy. She would want you to be happy, as well."

Three hours later, dinner had been eaten, and Erik was alone in the parlor with Jacqueline. Erik was picking at a worn spot on the divan. Next to him, Jacqueline was looking around aimlessly, apparently trying to think of something else to say. She sighed softly, and out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw her bite the edge of her bottom lip as she studied her shoes.

"Would you like some more wine?'

Jacqueline smiled. "That would be lovely."

Erik reached forward to grab the bottle and poured a bit more into her half-full glass. She smiled prettily and took a sip. "This is wonderful wine. Where did you happen across it?"

"I don't recall," he said gruffly. He cleared his throat and Jacqueline took another sip of wine.

After several more minutes of not speaking, Jacqueline suddenly set down her wine glass with a small clink.

"You don't like me, do you?" she asked bluntly.

Erik, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor, did not answer right away. "It's not that," he stammered.

Jacqueline nodded sharply. "I need a drink before I can say this," she muttered, and she drank the rest of her wine down in one long drink. She exhaled sharply, inhaled again, then breathed out slowly. "I know," she said slowly, "that I am not the woman that you want. Don't argue with me," she said, lifting a hand to silence him as he opened his mouth to object. "If you really wanted me, you'd be more verbal. I know men. I've been dancing around them for years." She smiled coyly, and Erik found himself wondering about her past. "But if you would just talk to me, you would see that I could be good for you. I think you'd be good for me."

She stopped talking and poured herself a bit more wine and sipped it while he contemplated what she had just said.

"I am not," he said softly, "in any way good with women, as I am certain that you have heard. I do not wish to promise you anything. In any case, many people would have liked to see me hanging from the gallows."

Try though they might, the police had never been able to find any evidence pointing to Erik as a murderer or arsonist. He had been surprised when Raoul de Chagny had released a statement that neither he or Christine wanted to press any charges against Erik for kidnap, not giving an explanation, but letting him entirely off the hook. He walked now, a free man, revered by some and hated by others. He kept mostly to himself, speaking to few, living quietly with Madam Giry and her daughter. Meg occasionally visited Christine at her villa outside Paris, but Christine never visited her.

"I know that some people—" Jacqueline's voice was laced with disdain, "dislike you. I, however, believe that if you are cleared by the law then there is no reason to treat you any way other than I would treat anyone else." She paused to sip her wine again. "I promise never to ask what you did or did not do. I know enough from what Meg has told me to not need to ask questions about what happened at the opera. Give me the chance to make you happy, even if you never love me."

Erik was not sure what to say. No woman, other than perhaps Marie, had spoken to him in such a way. He was not sure what Jacqueline wanted—marriage or companionship—but he decided to assume the former, based on her tone and demeanor. Finally, he spoke. "I suppose I should move out of here, then." He glanced around the parlor. "It wouldn't look so good for you to be seen with a man that lives with two unmarried women."

Jacqueline smiled and sipped her wine again before leaning forward to kiss his good cheek. "No, it wouldn't."

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Christine forced her eyes open as Raoul's sister-in-law continued to chatter away nonstop. She had long since lost the train of conversation, and now found herself torn between dozing off and fidgeting with the tassels on her dress.

After several minutes, she heard Annette say her name.

"We're not all as blessed as Christine," she was saying.

Thinking they were speaking of her marriage, Christine forced a smile. "I am quite lucky."

Annette nodded. "Won't you entertain us now?"

Christine stared at her blankly for a moment before realization dawned on her. "Oh!"

The little group made its way to the parlor, where there was a piano, and the conversation continued, seemingly on the latest gossip.

"And of course, Jacqueline Garnier just remarried," one of the women said, and another shushed her. From the corner of her eye, she saw the second women jerk her head at Christine.

"Jacqueline Garnier? The widow?" Christine could care less about Jacqueline, but she was curious as to why the women seemed to clam up about it around her, especially when they so loved good gossip.

"Yes, you remember, the one whose husband died in the war." Annette sighed. "I know nothing of her husband, only that he's apparently a recluse."

The conversation did not continue as they entered the room and Annette seated herself at the piano. She smiled, all artificial sweetness, and began to play. Every dinner she went to where there was a piano, Christine was requested to sing. At first, she had been flattered. Then, she overheard several women talking about "putting her in her place." Raoul had brushed it off, saying she was being silly, but Christine knew that the requests for her singing were more of an insult than a compliment. She did not belong in this world of glittering parties and galas and money and champagne.

Later, Christine was getting ready for bed and talking to Raoul about the party, from her perspective.

"I know none of them like me," she said bitterly, as she slipped into her nightgown. "They wouldn't even talk about Jacqueline Garnier getting married around me."

Raoul had been sipping from a glass of water and he choked slightly. As he composed himself, he said, "Really?"

"Yes." She slid into bed next to him. "All they said was that he's some recluse, and they refused to tell me anything else."

"They refused?"

"They kept changing the subject." She heaved a sigh. "You don't know who she married, do you?"

"No idea." Raoul set his water down and extinguished the candle. "Go to sleep, Lottie."

An hour later, Christine was sleeping soundly, but Raoul was awake, rifling through his desk until he found an article he had clipped from the paper's society column a week previously.

_Jacqueline Garnier, widow of self-made millionaire Francis Dupont, remarried last week to Erik Laroche. Laroche began the Laroche Architectural Firm last year, and has cemented his reputation as a master stonemason and architect. Previous to his work in building, Laroche was charged with several murders, arson, and kidnap at the Paris Opera. He was cleared of all charges when no evidence was found supporting any case against him. Jacqueline is the niece of architect Charles Garnier, the architect for the new opera house. Mr. Garnier was one of few guests present at the small wedding, which took place at Jacqueline's Paris villa._

_The Laroches will be remaining in Paris._

Crumpling the article up, Raoul tossed it into the fire. Even as he watched it burn, however, he knew it was only a matter of time until Christine found out.

_A/n Yeah? No? Maybe? Not much to go off of, I know, but review and let me know what you think._


	2. COUP DE GRÂCE

**CHAPTER 2—COUP DE GRÂCE**

Erik and Jacqueline had been married for one month when they received their first official invitation to a dinner party at the home of Joseph Martin and his wife, Leslie. Joseph was a general in the French army and had been good friends with Jacqueline's late husband, and it promised to be an enjoyable event with a hodgepodge of military personnel and nobility.

The day before the party, Jacqueline dragged Erik into town to the dress shop that she had owned for seven years. A wealthy businesswoman in her own right, Jacqueline was constantly surprising Erik with her wit and knowledge. Having known her for only four months, there was still a great deal to learn about her.

The bell tinkled as they entered the shop. Behind the counter, Meg Giry, who had been writing in a ledger, looked up and smiled. "I was wondering when you'd get here. We just finished the alterations this morning."

While Meg and Jacqueline disappeared into the back of the shop, Erik looked around. The shop was artfully decorated, reflecting Jacqueline's love of the color blue. The carpet was thick, and a deep, rich blue. Watercolors that he recognized as her own hung on the walls, blue being the central color in them. She had said that her eyes were her favorite part of her. They were the blue of the sky between night and sunrise, dark and deep and lovely. It was set off by her dark hair and tanned skin. Born in the south of France in a small coastal town, she was a Mediterranean beauty in every way, and the perfect woman for Erik to marry, even if it was so that he didn't have to die alone.

Jacqueline chose that moment to appear. She struck an attractive pose. "What do you think?"

Erik nodded. "It's very nice," he said. "Very nice" was an understatement. The gown hugged her curves and enhanced her already lovely features. It was dark green and laced with silver throughout. She would be the envy of every woman in attendance, and Erik would feel proud of her that she had designed herself such a flattering dress.

Seeming to read his thoughts, Jacqueline winked. "Don't worry, I won't run off with some rich count." Turning, she headed back to change. Meg stayed in the front as another girl hurried after her to help her.

"You seem to be getting along just fine." There was a twinkle in Meg's eyes as she surveyed him.

Erik nodded. "Jacqueline's a lovely woman," he said. "Very loyal, and very funny."

"You don't regret marrying her, then?"

"Why would I regret it?" he asked. "I enjoy spending time with her, more so than any other woman I have ever come across." He said this last with a bit of emphasis, cutting off any chance of talking about his past experiences with women.

"Erik, why don't you go help Jacqueline?" Meg asked suddenly. "I'm sure Claire could use an extra set of hands, and I'm sure Jacqueline wouldn't mind."

Erik frowned. "Since when does it take two people to dress a woman?"

"It couldn't hurt," Meg said quickly.

Erik surveyed her for a moment, and saw a strange look on her face. She was looking at him, but at the same time, she wasn't. "What are you—"

The door chimed behind him and he turned to find himself face to face with none other than Raoul de Chagny. He stopped just inside the door, his hand still on the knob, and stared at Erik with something close to shock.

"Vicomte!" Meg's voice was overly bright. "How... nice to see you!"

"Meg." He nodded in her direction, not taking his eyes off of Erik. "Laroche." His eyes scanned over Erik, calculating.

"Changy." Erik was having a difficult time keeping his emotions in, but he forced himself to remember that, if not for Raoul, he could very well be in prison right now.

Slowly, as if he feared attack if he moved too quickly, Raoul entered the shop. "I came to settle my account," he said, still watching Erik.

"Oh." Meg began riffling through the ledger and she smiled nervously. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking." He cleared his throat. "Just getting ready for the move."

"Move?" The word popped out of Erik's mouth before he could stop it, and it seemed to surprise Raoul as much as it surprised Erik.

"Yes," he said forcedly. "We're moving to another house in Rouen. An anniversary gift from my parents."

"Ah." The room felt uncomfortably warm, and Erik couldn't help but wonder what was taking Jacqueline so long. "Well. Good luck to you." He supposed he could be civil.

"Thank you." Raoul reached into his breast pocket to remove a wallet. "And to you—I hear congratulations are in order. Jacqueline is a lovely woman—you're quite lucky to have landed her."

"Oh, he didn't land me, I lured him in with my cooking." Jacqueline's voice caressed Erik's ears, never having sounded so welcome. She appeared smiling behind the counter next to Meg. "I hope you haven't been too bored, darling. I got distracted."

Erik raised his unobscured eyebrow. "Distracted?"

"By the muscovite's wife's dress, actually." She smiled disarmingly at Raoul. "It's just the right color for her, Raoul, you'll have to keep an eye on her."

Meg's mouth opened to say something, then she closed it quickly and went back to pouring over the ledger.

"What is it, dear?"

Meg shook her head quickly as she counted Raoul's money. "Nothing."

"And, of course, Meg's dress is lovely, as well. We'll all look so lovely in my gowns!" Jacqueline beamed at Meg's stunned expression. "Meg, my dear, you didn't think you weren't going to be our guest, did you? For heaven's sake! If it weren't for you, I would still be sitting in the back being melancholy. Erik, shall we go to lunch? I'm famished."

He nodded. "We shall arrive at six tomorrow evening to pick you up, Meg." Tipping his hat, he bade the pair of them farewell and left the still shocked Meg and the bemused Raoul in the shop.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jacqueline dissolved into giggles. "I'm sorry," she said. "I knew he was coming today to pick up his wife's dress, it just slipped my mind. I heard his voice and started lacing up wrong just to get out there and rescue you."

"I, madame, do not need rescuing." Erik stared imposingly, yet teasingly, down at her. "I believe it is you that may need rescuing when Meg sees her dress. She won't leave you alone for the thanks."

Jacqueline gave a contented hum as she laced her arm through his. "I quite outdid myself." She yawned widely and rested her head on his arm. "I have to do something about your snoring, darling. It's almost unbearable."

Erik could not stop the booming laugh that escaped his lips. Helping her into their carriage, he kissed her hand extravagantly. "My apologies, my dear. It's the only thing I can think of to block out yours."

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The sound of the orchestra was soothing against Christine's ears, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. She was in love with the gown she had on—it made her feel like she truly belonged here. After hearing Jacqueline Laroche's name, she had wondered if she would be able to meet the dressmaker if she got a gown made by her. She had not met Jacqueline, but she could see how the woman had managed to make a name for herself, as well as enough money to make her ineligible to be a gold digger.

Raoul did not seem to share her excitement. On the contrary, he seemed quite on edge. She supposed it had something to do with the move. Still, every time she had mentioned her desire to meet the new Madame Laroche, he became nervous, seeming anxious and quickly changed the subject.

At the door, Raoul and Christine were announced, and they entered the throng. Immediately, Christine was much more at ease. Leslie Martin was a former dancer who married a soldier who went on to make a fortune. Christine had meet her previously, and gotten along with her, so this dinner was one she had actually looked forward to.

"Christine!" Meg was rushing toward her from a throng of handsome men, looking flushed. "I've been waiting for you!"

"Meg!' Christine beamed at the sight of her best friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Madame Laroche had a dress made for me, and she and her husband brought me!"

"So she is here?"

Meg bit her lip, looking suddenly nervous. "Yes, I suppose she's somewhere with her husband." She glanced at Raoul, who was looking slightly ill. "I'm not sure where, though," she added quickly.

Christine frowned, but at that moment, a woman whose beauty dulled even Meg appeared out of nowhere.

"Meg, you have to try these little tarts they're passing around!" She giggled slightly, nearly tipping her champagne. "Oh, vicomte! I feel like ages have passed since we met!"

Raoul smiled weakly. "Madame Laroche, you look lovely as usual."

Jacqueline Laroche giggled. "This must be your wife. I recognized her dress—I did design it, after all!" She pulled a slightly shocked Christine into a hug and whispered into her ear, "Monsieur Laroche will be upset when he finds out I've gotten into the champagne again!" She giggled again and spun away from Christine.

As she began an animated conversation with Meg, Christine took in her appearance. She was one of the most beautiful women Christine had ever seen. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in an elaborate configuration of twists and curls, but she was certain that when it came down it would hang to her waist. Her eyes were a deep, pure blue, and her skin was tanned, as if she spent all of her time basking in the sun. She was a bit taller than Christine, but not taller than most of the men in attendance. She was certain that the gown she wore was of her own creation, and it made her look even more beautiful, enhancing her generous curves in a way that was most flattering without being too flashy. Truly, this woman was a master of beauty.

"Christine." She was jerked from her thoughts by Raoul's hand on her arm. "We should greet our hosts." He tugged on her arm in an insistent manner. "Come."

"I want to talk to Meg," she said, unable to help the slight whine that came into her voice. "Just for another minute?" She frowned as the color drained from Raoul's face. "Darling? Are you alright?"

"There you are!" Jacqueline's voice cut into the air. "I was beginning to think you'd left me for Captain Martin's cigar collection!"

"Never, my dear." The deep voice of Monsieur Laroche was distantly familiar to Christine, as if it were something she had once heard often and now never heard. Very slowly, she turned.

Monsieur Laroche's back was to her, and she could not see his face, but Jacqueline quickly decided to remedy this. "You remember Raoul, from the shop? And I believe you know his wife, Christine?"

There was a pause where time seemed to stand still, then Jacqueline's husband turned around. Christine was too shocked to move.

"Chagny." He nodded at Raoul, extending a hand, which Raoul shook, looking sick again. He glanced at Christine. "I see you made it."

Christine was aware that everyone was staring at her, and that even Jacqueline was silent. "I..." She couldn't close her mouth.

"I could use some fresh air!" Jacqueline was suddenly completely sober, and Christine could see something in her eyes. "Christine, why don't you join me? I'm sure the men would love to talk of politics without two wives huffing at every other word, and Meg, I do believe that young man over there is missing your company."

Before Christine could speak, Jacqueline had taken her arm, looped it through Christine's, and was directing her to the veranda.

Cool air hit Christine's face and she realized how dizzy she had become. She felt Jacqueline lead her to a bench and sit her down. She heard her say something to a passing waiter, then the woman's face was just below her own. With nowhere else to look, Christine forced herself to look into a face that she was sure was stern and disdainful.

Instead, Jacqueline's face was gentle and concerned. "Are you alright, dear?"

Christine forced herself to nod. A pair of legs appeared next to her, and then, Jacqueline was handing her a glass of water. "Here. Drink up before you fall down." She smiled kindly.

Christine downed the water in one and handed the glass back to the waiter, who then disappeared. She could feel herself sweating, and Jacqueline's hand brushed hair back from her face. "What is it?"

Unable to speak, Christine shook her head.

Sighing softly, Jacqueline moved to sit next to Christine. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Surely your husband told you we'd married?"

Again, Christine shook her head, but this time, words came easier. "I think he may have gone so far as to tell his sister to have everyone keep it from me."

"That's what I hate about men. They always think they know best. Few of them seem to realize we are fully capable of taking care of ourselves." When Christine looked up, the other woman's smile had turned sad. "I'm very sorry you are upset."

"Is he happy?" She couldn't help but ask.

"I think so. He certainly laughs more now than he did when I met him."

"And you don't hold... anything against him?"

"My dear, I myself am far less than perfect." Jacqueline laughed softly. "My reputation is that of a gold digging, spoiled rich wife. No one seems to notice that I have quite a savings of my own. I don't need a man to survive, but I do enjoy the company."

Finally, a smile crossed Christine's face. "I know how it feels."

"What?"

"To be considered a gold digger."

"You're no gold digger," Jacqueline said bracingly. "You're just a young woman in love. Now I must ask you—are you happy?"

"I am," Christine said softly, knowing how true it was. "I am very happy with Raoul."

"Good." Jacqueline squeezed Christine's hand. "I'm sorry that you are moving. We could have been good friends. Perhaps, though, you'll visit and write."

"I can do that."

"That's settled, then. Now, let's go rescue the men from the sea of awkwardness they have undoubtedly created in our absence."

Despite herself, Christine laughed, finding one more reason to like Erik's new wife.

_A/n You may think you know where this is going, but I bet you don't... like I said, the updates will slow down at some point. I just have time off work right now and I need an outlet so I don't bore myself to death. I'm actually really boring, if you can believe that. Leave me love and reviews!_


	3. FAÇADE

**CHAPTER 3—FAÇADE **

_**August 1875, 3 Years Later...**_

The house was relatively quiet today. Most of the servants were outside or resting—it was too hot to do much else—and Raoul was, once again, away on business. Christine heaved a sigh and fanned herself as Meg entered with a glass of cool lemonade.

"You look ready to faint," Meg said. "Drink up."

Christine took a sip, and rested the glass at her side. Turning her head to look at Meg, she smiled. "Thank you for coming to stay with me. With my luck, this baby will come while Raoul is gone."

Meg nodded and smiled, although Christine could see that it did not reach her eyes. "He must be very busy to be away at such a time."

"Very busy." Rubbing a hand absently over her belly, Christine heaved a sigh. Truthfully, he was busy, but his family were the ones making sure it stayed that way. Over the last four years, Christine had become more and more sure that Raoul's family strongly disapproved of her. She was hoping for a boy, for she knew that a boy to carry on the family name would be welcome. However, she also hoped for a girl, for someone she could confide in, and for something of her own.

The last year had been particularly difficult. Raoul's mother, already frail, had passed away, putting more pressure on Raoul. A baby had been welcome news to him, but he had been away for most of her pregnancy. At the moment, he was in London with his brother, Philippe. She knew he loved her, but she felt that when Philippe called, he lost some of his ability to fight for their marriage.

Once, so many years ago, Jacqueline had asked her if she was happy, and she had answered truthfully. Now, three years later, if she asked that same question, she would have to consider her answer carefully. The thought of Jacqueline made her feel a stab of jealousy. In March, she had given birth to a healthy girl the couple had named Nadine. Jacqueline had written that the pregnancy and subsequent birth were very difficult, and that Nadine would likely be their only child. Christine tried to feel bad for Jacqueline and Erik, but she found it difficult when they were obviously very happy together. Erik worked, and she knew from Meg that he occasionally had to travel, but he never stayed away from home too long.

Forcing these thoughts from her mind, Christine felt a sharp kick from the child inside her and she grunted slightly, frowning down at her belly. "Was that necessary?" Another kick. "I suppose you just like to be a pain."

Meg smiled. "When are you due again?"

"Last week." Christine sighed heavily. "Raoul was supposed to be home then, but duty calls."

Meg sipped her lemonade thoughtfully. "Things will probably change after the baby is born," she said. "I can't see him being too willing to stay away so often when there are two people waiting for him at home, especially when one of them doesn't understand why he must leave so often."

"So the baby will understand why he's always gone?" Christine asked, bitterness lacing her voice. "I certainly don't." Rubbing her belly again, she said, "Can we please talk about something else? How is Luc?"

"He's fine." Meg finished her drink and set the glass down. "If it were up to him, we'd elope tomorrow, but maman would likely kill us both if we did not have a proper ceremony."

Christine laughed, grateful for a reason to do so. "I received the invitation last week. You're quite brave to have a December wedding."

"Christmas eve," Meg said happily. "We're each other's Christmas present. It's not going to be very big. Only about twenty guests. You, Raoul, maman, her new beau..." She trailed off mysteriously.

"'New beau?'" Christine sat up a bit straighter with a bit of difficulty. "Who?"

"Some old friend of Erik's," she said mischievously. "I've no idea how they met, but he's quite the character."

"What's he like?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Handsome, devilishly funny, Persian."

"He's from Persia?"

"That is where Persians come from, yes." Meg laughed at the intrigued look on Christine's face. "He's a widower, and very polite. Swept maman right off her feet. He's quite the charmer—says he taught Erik everything he knows about wooing women."

"That's something to be proud of?"

"In some aspects." Laughing again, Meg slid off her slippers and curled her feet under her legs. "He's quite happy with Jacqueline, in any case."

"Good for them," Christine said softly. "I suppose I was an exception."

"I suppose." Meg's voice was soft, and Christine knew that Meg was back in the opera, where they had grown up. "You should see the new opera house—it's amazing. Jacqueline is quite proud of her uncle."

A small smile graced Christine's face. "She should be—I've heard it's quite the sight to see." Christine followed Meg's example and slid her shoes off. "My feet are killing me."

Meg stood up and moved in front of Christine. "Stick them out, please."

Frowning slightly, giving her an odd look, Christine did as she requested. Meg grasped Christine's ankles and turned her on the couch so that she was reclined, then seated herself so that Christine's feet were in her lap. She pulled off Christine's stockings and began massaging her aching feet.

"God." Christine's head fell back against the pillows. "If you ever have children, remind me to return the favor so that you can feel this glorious."

Meg laughed, digging her thumbs into the arches of Christine's foot. "They hurt that bad?"

Christine smiled wryly. "I'm supporting forty pounds more than usual on them—they scream in pain every time I walk."

"Hmm." Meg looked thoughtful as she switched feet. "Perhaps I'll just lay about on pillows all day and make Luc fetch me everything I need."

"Put him at your beck and call."

"Make him bring me juice and chocolates."

"And fan you with palm leaves."

"And bring me breakfast in bed!"

They were laughing now at the idea of Luc running up and down stairs with everything Meg could possibly need.

"I may have him running errands anyway," Meg said, grinning. "He'd do it, too."

"Luc adores you." Christine closed her eyes. "I can see it when he looks at you."

"How does he look at me?"

"Like you're the only woman in the room, maybe even in the world." A sigh escaped her lips. "The way Raoul used to look at me."

"I've never seen him look twice at another woman."

"I know. Still, he doesn't look at me the same anymore. It's like he's gotten used to me."

"You've been married four years, Christine." Meg's voice was soft, but there was a note of encouragement and understanding there. "It's hard to keep magic alive that long. He loves you, I know he does."

Christine opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. "I know." She thought for a moment about the last four years, of how she and Raoul had changed—of how much she'd grown up. Of how she'd been forced to...

"Tell me more about this beau of your mother's."

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Erik had no desire to get out of bed, but he knew the office would undoubtedly go awry if he did not make an appearance today. It was September, and the scramble was on to finish work on various sites before it became too cold. Arguments were coming halts, with hasty agreements filling their void, and more workers were being hired to finish laying foundations, putting up walls, and putting on finishing touches.

Today, he would be lucky if he did not fall asleep during breakfast.

Rolling over, he moved to throw an arm around Jacqueline, but she was already up. Certainly, she was down the hall with Nadine, who had found it necessary to scream for most of the night. She was not hungry, wet, sick—she simply wanted attention.

He heard Jacqueline's footsteps in the hall, quiet and sounding as if she were attempting to sneak down the hall before Nadine realized she was gone and woke.

_Three, two, one._

A loud scream pierced the air, and Erik heard Jacqueline's cry of frustration. Quickly, Erik clambered from the bed and hurried into the hall, pulling on a robe and making it out the door before Jacqueline reached it.

"Go to breakfast," he said. "I'll see to Nadine."

Jacqueline smiled gratefully. "Thank you, darling."

Inside the nursery, the noise was louder than ever and Erik found it a wonder that his wife had not jumped from a window. Lifting Nadine from her crib, Erik bounced her up and down, making soft shushing noises against her dark hair. Softly, he sang some nonsense song he made up as he went, and soon, she was quiet, looking up at him with wonder.

"Shall we have a stare-off, my dear?"

Nadine's green eyes were wide as she stared up at her father. Erik stared back. She blinked.

"Ha!" He lifted her in the air over her head and she squealed with delight. "You lost!"

A toothless grin lit her tiny face, and Erik laughed along with her. "You really should apologize to your mother, you know. You've exhausted her yet again." Nadine cooed as she was lowered to rest in the familiar crook of Erik's arm. "Don't try getting cute. You know you're in trouble."

With surprising strength, Nadine grabbed hold of the white mask he had put on after waking and removed it before promptly dropping it on the floor. Rolling his eyes, Erik picked it up. He knew there was no use replacing it—it was becoming a favorite game of Nadine's to take it off, study it for a moment, then drop it so that he had to pick it up. He held it in his left hand and she made little grunting noises as she reached for it.

"You'll just drop it again." Her face began to crinkle, and Erik knew that a screech was on its way, just as soon as she had enough power to shatter glass. Quickly, he handed it back to her. She made a noise of wonder and chewed on the edge of it. Her face puckered up and she threw it on the floor again.

"I could have told you that leather is not tasty, my dear."

"I could have told you she's been putting everything she gets her hands on in her mouth, so I'd keep your blueprints well out of reach."

Looking up, Erik saw Jacqueline standing in the door, a breakfast tray in one hand and a crinkled piece of paper in the other. She set the tray down and handed him the paper. "Nothing important, I hope?"

Erik glanced at it and grimaced. He had just finished this one, and he would not have to redo it. Looking down at Nadine, he asked, "You happy now? You've ruined yet another piece of your papa's work."

Jacqueline laughed. "I brought you something to eat." Taking Nadine from Erik's arms, she put the baby on the floor and plopped down next to her. She held out her hand. "Coffee, please."

"I hope it's strong today."

"Oh, Candice said she heard the screaming and put in an extra scoop." She smiled at her husband. "I love her."

Erik reached for his mask, but before he could get to it, Nadine had rolled and was toying with it again.

"Don't worry about it," Jacqueline said, "it's just me, and she's too young to care."

It was a mark of the progress they had made in their marriage that Jacqueline cared less about his face. He had worn the mask night and day for the first six months of their marriage. One morning, he had woken to find that it had dislodged and as he frantically searched for it in the sheets, he had inadvertently woken his wife without realizing it.

"Jesus, Erik," she had said, startling him nearly out of his wits, "is that all you're hiding under there?"

He'd frozen, having just found his mask. "I'm sorry?"

"It's not that bad." She'd studied his face for a moment. "Looks like maybe you were a pyrotechnic in your younger days, though." She winked, and he had burst out laughing.

Now, years later, he lay bare faced in front of a five-month old child, making faces and blowing raspberries at her. She gurgled back at him, reaching for his nose.

"I've given up wearing earrings around her," Jacqueline said dryly. "It's painful. She thinks they're pretty, I suppose."

"I suppose she gets her love of beauty from her papa," Erik said, winking at her.

Jacqueline blushed slightly, but took another sip of her coffee. "You're not getting any morning loving. I'm too exhausted."

Erik leaned over, kissing her cheek. "Can't blame a man for trying." He stood up. "I've got to get ready for work."

"You didn't eat."

He grabbed a piece of toast on his way out the door, waving it at his wife and heading down the hall to dress for another day of grinding frustration.

Downstairs, the morning mail had arrived. He flipped through it as he walked back upstairs to give it to Jacqueline. In the nursery, Nadine was rolling about her playpen, grabbing toys and throwing them across the little area. Jacqueline was dozing in a rocking chair, and Erik shook her slightly. She woke with a jolt.

"Hmm?" She looked up at him sleepily.

"Mail call," he said, handing her the pile.

She began flipping through it until she found something of interest while Erik knelt in front of Nadine, who stared at him with wonder before holding out her arms and grunting. Rising, he lifted her up again while Jacqueline began telling him what was in the mail. Something about Meg picking a wedding dress, progress with Marie and Nadir, another postcard from Charles...

"Ooh!" Jacqueline made a noise of delight. "Christine had her baby!"

"What was it?" Erik was only half paying attention as he lay down on the floor, resting Nadine on his chest.

"A girl." She scanned over the letter. "The honorable Lady Emma Juliette Marie Danielle de Chagny. So far, looks like her mother." She set the letter down. "Why do nobility have to have such long names?"

"To annoy the rest of us that made our own money and are now forced to put up with them in polite company." Erik stuck his tongue out at at Nadine, and she copied him. Jacqueline laughed.

"She's beginning to look like you, you know."

"She's got your nose, though."

"Everything else is yours, though."

"If her hair's curly, it'll be yours."

Jacqueline smiled, sifting through the rest of her mail. "Not much interesting today." She set the pile on top of Christine's letter. "You'd better get going, or the office may burn to the ground in your absence, then you'd have one more thing to have to build."

Erik handed Nadine to Jacqueline. "I think she's hungry."

Sure enough, Nadine was reaching for her mother, making smacking noises with her mouth and whining softly. As Jacqueline prepared to feed her, Erik dropped a kiss on Nadine's head and gently kissed Jacqueline's cheek. "I'll be back for lunch."

"I'll make it good."

_a/n Okay... A brief note about chapter titles. They're all going to be in French, I think, and you can look them up if you google "French phrases" and click on the first link—it'll take you to a lovely wikipedia page that is fun to look over. Just a time line of what's going on so far..._

_1871—opera house fire, Raoul and Christine marry_

_1872—Erik meets Jacqueline, gets married_

_March 1875—Nadine Laroche is born_

_August 1875—Emma blah-blah-blah de Chagny is born_

_Reviews, please!_


	4. C'EST LA VIE

**CHAPTER 4—C'EST LA VIE**

_**March 1878**_

The opera house built by Charles Garnier was truly a work of art. It had been nice to be snuck in well before the production started as not to alarm anyone with his presence, but Erik had made his way in. Next to him, Jacqueline was looking over the program.

"I can't believe we haven't seen this yet." Glancing over, Erik hid a smile as Meg slid into the box, dragging Luc behind her. "_Carmen_ has been out for two years, and everyone's been talking about it, and we're just now seeing it!"

Reaching around, Luc held out his hand, and Erik shook it. "Good to see you, Erik."

Erik nodded and smiled as Meg waved slightly, smiling, and deposited herself in a seat next to Jacqueline. Luc seemed quite content to drown out the womens' conversation, and he handed Erik a cigar.

"We just got here and she's already on the subject of shoes." Luc shook his head. "How've you been? I hear your office just got quite the proposal."

"Build a new school in two years?" Erik shook his head and blew a smoke ring. "Obviously, we're still in negotiations."

Luc laughed. "If they don't build it, they don't have a clue as to how long something like that can take."

"What about you? I hear you had a little incident last week?"

"A woman came in—I'm quite sure not quite right in the head, you know. Wants to know if she can sue a dog for shitting on her front stoop." Luc rolled his eyes. "Took three of us to restrain her when she started screaming about her stoop being the only stoop to have been defecated on, that she was going to sue every dog in Paris..."

By now, Erik was laughing heartily. "We get our share of the crazies," Erik said, "but I think your dog lady takes the cake."

Glancing over to make sure that the women were engaged in conversation, Luc reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a flask. Quickly, he took a swig before handing it to Erik.

"And once again, no husband." Luc was looking across the auditorium, a bit of disgust lining his face. Frowning, Erik followed his gaze.

In a box opposite them, Christine de Chagny was sitting alone in a box, her maid at her side. Luc had managed to figure out that the maid's presence meant her husband was once again away on business some time ago, and he always made a point of bringing it to his wife's attention.

After puffing at his cigar for a moment, Luc leaned forward. "Meg!" When she turned, he jerked is head, and Meg looked over to Christine.

Huffing slightly, she sat back in her seat, crossing her arms. "Once again, he's probably in Rome or London or somewhere very far away."

Jacqueline, always the problems solver, patted Meg's hand. "Maybe they're having money problems. Lots of these nobles nowadays have some kind of financial difficulties."

"It's not that. Christine told me that he's made enough on his own now that they've already set aside Emma's dowry, and a trust fund for both her and Christine." She scowled down at her knees. "He's completely spineless! Whenever Philippe has to leave for something, he tells Raoul that he requires his company, and Raoul doesn't even fight him! Never mind that he has a lovely wife and a beautiful child at home."

Erik snorted into his champagne, and a bit of it went down his throat wrong. He coughed heavily, trying to clear his wind pipe, and took another sip of champagne. Jacqueline patted his knee.

"Careful, darling, mirth can take us to the edge."

The group of them laughed, but their laughter died down as the lights went down and the production began.

By intermission, Meg and Jacqueline were on the edges of their seats, enraptured by the show, and Luc and Erik were slightly tipsy from the rum that had been going back and forth between them. When Jacqueline realized this, she rolled her eyes at Meg.

"Shall we leave the boys to their vices? I need to stretch my legs."

Meg, however, was frowning across the room again. As one, three heads turned and they saw that Christine's box was empty and that an usher was clearing things up.

"Wonder where she went." Luc stretched his arms over his head. "Never seen her leave an opera early."

"And it's _Carmen_! She's been dying to see it for ages!" Meg's frown deepened into one of more concern than anger.

There was a knock, and an usher came in. "Madame Cartier?"

Meg stood up. The usher handed her an envelope, which Erik noticed had the de Chagny coat of arms on it. As the usher took his leave, Meg slid the envelope open and pulled out a small piece of paper. Her eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth, looking horrified.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. She looked up, staring blankly forward, tears forming in her eyes. Looking concerned, Jacqueline took the letter from Meg. As her eyes scanned the page, a look of horror came over her face, as well.

"How horrible," she whispered.

"I feel terrible," Meg choked out. Jacqueline wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I've been sitting here calling him spineless and whatever else!"

"What's the matter?" Luc looked a bit worried. "Is Christine alright?"

"It's not Christine," Jacqueline said softly. "It's her husband."

Later that evening, Meg, Jacqueline, Luc, and Erik sat around the fire in the sitting room. Luc's face was blank as he stared into the flames, and Jacqueline's eyes were red and puffy. She dabbed them again with Erik's handkerchief. Looking down, she reread Christine's first letter and the second letter that had arrived minutes ago.

"Should we go over?" Luc's voice was hollow. "She shouldn't be alone right now."

"Philippe is over there, isn't he?" Erik slid a bit closer to Jacqueline, wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Fuck Philippe," Jacqueline growled, taking Erik slightly aback. "This is his fault. I don't know how she could stand to look at him."

The sound of the door chimes met their ears, and the three of them jumped. Standing, Luc left the room to see who was at their door. A moment later, they could hear footsteps in the hall and Luc's voice calling for Meg. She had been lying on a divan, but she leapt to her feet, rushing from the room. Straining his ears, he could hear crying, and Luc say, "I'll take her upstairs and get her something to drink."

"Are you hungry, _petit_? I have biscuits, does that sound good?"

Meg came back into the sitting room carrying a little girl with curly hair. Her face was buried in Meg's neck. Crossing to a small table, Meg opened a tin containing some sweet biscuits, and she took one out before sitting back down, the little girl in her lap. She made no move to take the sweet from Meg, who looked slightly tearful.

"Help me," she mouthed at Jacqueline, but it was Erik who came to her aid.

Kneeling next to Meg, he glanced up at her for a moment before turning his attention to the little girl. "Emma? Do you like magic tricks?"

Emma's head turned slightly, still cradled against Meg, but looking at Erik now. He waved an empty hand in front of her, reached behind her head, and pulled out a large silver coin. He handed it to Emma. She stared at it for a moment, and while she was looking at it, he slid the biscuit from Meg's fingers.

Another wave of an empty hand, and magically, the biscuit appeared. He handed this to Emma, as well, and she took it from him and began to nibble at it. He patted her head and went back to sit next to Jacqueline, who took his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

No one saw much of Christine for the next several days. She stayed shut in the guest room, and Erik and Jacqueline visited, bringing with them Nadine, who played dress up with Emma.

On the fifth night of her haunting of Meg and Luc's house, Erik stepped out after dinner for a bit of fresh air and found Christine looking over the edge of the balcony. Gingerly, Erik grasped her shoulder and pulled her back, sitting her in a chair.

"You won't do Emma any good if you go through with it, you know." He handed her a brandy. "I thought you could use something strong."

Christine's eyes did not move as she took the glass from him. It was startling how much older she looked. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were puffy. Her hair was lank and matted in places. Her black dress was buttoned up to her neck and she was pale in its contrast. Gone was the little girl he had once watched from a distance. She had been replaced by by a dreary widow, always dressed in black.

"The funeral is the day after tomorrow."

Her voice was more shocking than her appearance. It was rough and raspy, and softer than usual. For a moment, Erik wondered how long she had cried, and how hard. She was still staring blankly ahead, and she took a sip of brandy, wincing slightly.

"Thank you for bringing Nadine." She sipped her brandy again, tearing her gaze away from the void she had been studying to look up at him. "I don't think Emma even knows what is happening."

"She won't remember it," he said softly. "Consider it a blessing in disguise."

"But she won't remember him, either." She sniffed and dabbed her eyes. "She'll never remember what it was like to have a father." Taking another drink, she sighed softly. "I'm not sure what to do. I want Emma to feel normal, but I don't think I'm ready to go back to Rouen yet."

"Stay in Paris." Erik leaned against the railing. "No one will begrudge your company for a few months."

"Meg's already asked me to stay here." She finished her brandy and set the glass down beside her. "I think I will."

"The change of scenery will be good for you."

Christine was staring at her void again. Erik made to go inside, but she began speaking again, softly, more to herself than to him, and he paused.

"Philippe said he was trying to hurry him up to get home. He said he wanted to be back in time for our anniversary. They were running to catch the train." Christine's eyes closed, but tears still leaked from the corners. "Philippe made it on, but Raoul's foot got caught on something, and he fell. The doctors weren't sure if he felt anything." Her eyes suddenly opened and met Erik's for the first time in years. "Are you happy?"

Erik blinked. "Am I... I'm sorry, what?"

"Are you happy. You know, with your life."

Erik thought for a moment. Other than the discomfort of the people around him, he was happy. He had a wife that, although he wasn't sure if he loved, he cared for deeply, and a beautiful child. His career was enjoyable and he was successful, well off, and comfortable in a large house just outside the city. He nodded. "I suppose so."

Christine nodded, then turned back to her void. Erik waited for a moment to see if she would say anything else. When she did not, he turned, and went back inside.

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The funeral two days later could not have been more bleak. People dressed in black filed into the church, whispering quietly about how horrible Raoul de Chagny's death was, and how horrible that he had left behind a wife and small child. A light drizzle fell outside, the sky as gray as steel. Some of the people filing in were crying, others looking as if they might, but Christine could not cry anymore. She wasn't sure she had anymore tears.

Emma was seated in her lap, and Christine pressed her cheek against the little girl's curls. She was holding a doll that had been given to her by Raoul the last Christmas, and she was looking around, not comprehending why so many sad people were gathered together.

On her left, Philippe and his wife held hands while Philippe's head hung. She knew he was hiding tears. His wife's tears flowed freely down her cheeks. On her right, Meg sat with Luc and her mother, who had come out with her arthritis in the rain to be there.

A flash of white caught Christine's eye, and she turned to see Erik with his wife and daughter. Nadine was sitting in her father's lap, dressed in a black dress and black shoes, and she was fidgeting with the lace at her wrists. Erik leaned down and whispered something to her and she rested her head on his chest. Next to them, Jacqueline was gazing at their daughter, running her hand over the little girl's head.

Christine tore her gaze away as the ceremony began. She listened to the sermon on how death was just the next step in life, but she couldn't help but feel that death had taken her husband too soon. Looking down at Emma, she felt the tears come as she realized yet again that her daughter would never know her father. Raoul wouldn't see her as she grew into a young woman, wouldn't have a conversation with her, wouldn't walk her down the aisle of this church...

Tiny fingers followed tears down her face, and she clutched Emma to her as she stood up, rushing from the sanctuary. She rocked back and forth in the vestibule, holding Emma close, pressing kisses against her dark hair.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned to see, of all people, Luc. He peeled Emma from her, whispering for her to go sit with Aunt Meg, and when she was gone, he gathered Christine in his arms.

"Meg and I are going to be there for everything," he murmured. "We'll be there when she trips and skins her knee. We'll be there when she goes off to school. You're not alone, Christine. You have friends here." He kissed the top of her head. "You've been like a sister to Meg her entire life, and you've taken to me like a brother. Brothers protect their sisters."

The sobs that tore from her already sore throat hurt, but she leaned into Luc, taking this newfound brother in, the sturdy feel of him, and she felt safe for the first time in days.

Later, after the funeral and after the burial, Meg walked down the damp streets at her side, holding her hand. They did not speak, but they did not need to. Some bonds broke at the slightest pressure. The bonds of family, though—the bonds of sisterhood—took much more to break, and they were as sturdy as ever they had been.

_a/n Whew! Heavy chapter. Hope everyone's holding on okay. I must pause to say thank you with the utmost meaning to fantomesrose for making me giggle a bit with her last review at my own wit. I love you all!_

_On a more serious note, this chapter is dedicated to anyone who has ever lost someone. I've been there. I've been Christine losing control and crying when you realize that you'll never run a track meet with your teammate again. I've been at the funeral when you know your best friend will never be the same after her boyfriend's death, and you'll never see him in those cowboy boots again. I've seen when your sister cries at the loss of her best friend, who made her laugh, and you feel completely helpless. I love you._

_In loving memory of Elissa, Lindsey, Zachary, and Clint, and the countless others. Such is life. You were taken too soon._


	5. PRÉLUDE À ADIEU

_a/n At this point, the rating change is just to be safe._

**CHAPTER 5—PRÉLUDE À ADIEU**

_**October 1879**_

The cemetery was quiet, and Jacqueline sat on a bench, stroking Nadine's long hair. The four year old rested her head against her mother's shoulder.

"What was she like?"

Nadine's clear voice cut into Jacqueline's thoughts and startled her a bit. Jacqueline considered her answer carefully. "I don't know. I never met her."

"Does papa miss her?"

"I think so, sometimes."

"If you were gone, I would miss you very much." Nadine turned her head and stared at Erik, who was kneeling next to a white headstone, rearranging the flowers he had just placed there. "Was she pretty?"

"She was very pretty." Jacqueline rested her cheek against Nadine's head. "But not as pretty as you."

Nadine giggled, suddenly a child again, and she waved at her papa as he made his slow way back toward them. When he reached them, he sat down next to his wife, resting his cane next to him on the bench. Nadine clambered out of Jacqueline's lap and into Erik's. He welcomed her with open arms. The trio sat for a long time, until the breeze picked up a bit, blowing more leaves from the trees and around their feet.

"We should go before it rains," Erik said. "Hop down, love."

Sliding down, Nadine stood primly as her mother rose to take her hand. Slowly, a bit painfully, Erik got to his feet and grimaced slightly.

"You shouldn't walk on it so much," Jacqueline said softly as they made their way back to where the driver waited with the carriage. "It only makes it worse."

"Gets stiff," Erik grunted, watching Nadine hop back into the carriage. Jacqueline rolled her eyes and climbed in after her, then turned to hold out a hand to Erik, who took it gratefully as he pulled himself in.

The door closed behind him, and Nadine looked out over the graves as they passed.

"Are they all somebody's mama?" she asked.

Erik blinked, but it was Jacqueline who answered.

"Some are. Some are papas, some are sons and daughters. Some lived alone." She brushed a stray curl from Nadine's face. "They're all together now, with Jesus."

Erik was constantly amazed by the level of thought at which Nadine operated. She was highly intelligent for her age, and as he looked back out toward his mother's grave, he was reminded of himself at her age.

The next day proved to be a rainy one. Nadine was playing with dolls in her room, as childish as ever she had been, and as Erik walked down the hallway, he glanced in rooms for Jacqueline. He found her sitting in the parlor with an untouched cup of tea, her hands folded primly while she stared out the window. Drops of rain slid down the glass and down onto the ground below.

Sitting down next to his wife, Erik stared at her for a moment before speaking. "You look very pensive today," he said softly. "What's on your mind?"

"I was just thinking about something Nadine said yesterday, in the cemetery." Her eyes still stared forward, but Erik could see the lack of focus. "She said if I were gone, she would miss me."

"You're not gone, though, you're here with me."

"Am I?" Jacqueline smiled, still staring at nothing.

Erik felt a slight jolt in his stomach, and he assumed that it had something to do with the dreamy tone Jacqueline had adopted. "Jacqueline?"

She blinked, and her gaze shifted to meet his. Her eyes looked into his, and there was something written on her face. Erik found himself shaking his head, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly.

She smiled sadly. "You can't stop it from happening, Erik, no matter how hard you try."

The tears formed without his consent, and Jacqueline reached up to remove his mask, running her hands over his face. He leaned into her hand. "They said it was nothing to worry about."

"They were wrong." Tears were in her eyes, too. "Doctors are wrong all the time."

"How long?"

"Six months." All her breath left her in a rush. "Maybe more, maybe less. They're not sure." Her tears were now running down her face, and she curled onto his side, resting her head in his lap.

Later, Erik found himself staring down at his wife. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, her breasts rising and falling. Erik ran his fingers through her long tresses before carefully climbing out of bed. Walking slowly to his drafting desk, he removed charcoal and paper before setting a chair in front of Jacqueline. He wanted to remember her, just this way, forever. He wanted to remember the curve of her body, the peacefulness in her face, her utter beauty as she slept, unaware of her husband's gaze and not thinking of what time she had left.

His hands moved across the paper, sketching her perfect body. He paused at her belly when she heaved a sigh, but when she did not wake, he continued. The sheet was bunched at her waist, and he could just make out the line of her hips. When he had finished, once she was immortalized on paper, he climbed back into bed.

Her sleepy eyes opened and she smiled up at him. "Nadine will wonder where we are."

"She'll be fine." Erik took her hand and gently tugged her closer. They were quiet for a long time, and Erik was beginning to think she had fallen asleep until she spoke softly.

"When should we tell her?"

Heaving a sigh, Erik rolled onto his back, taking her with him. "We can't hold off too long, or she'll figure it out for herself."

Her tears fell onto his chest. "What if she never forgives me?"

"She will."

"Did you forgive your mother?"

"Eventually." Kissing her tears away, Erik touched her breast softly, as if he held her too roughly, she would fall apart in his arms. "But that was different."

"Promise you won't let her forget me."

"I swear, she will never forget you as long as I have breath in my body."

They made love again, as if it were the first time and the last time, and afterwards, neither slept, not wanting to let each other go just yet.

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Even with her eyes closed, Christine could still hear the patter of rain on the window. She drew the covers a bit tighter around her and opened her eyes. She was greeted with the sight of Emma, curled up facing her, still sleeping, unaware of the world around her and of her mother's loving gaze.

The last night's thunder storm had come with Emma's presence, frightened of the noise and flashing lightning. Christine had welcomed her daughter, and Emma had climbed into the spot once occupied by Raoul, her warm little body snuggling up to her mother's. Now, hours later, her curly brown hair was a mess and her mouth hung open slightly, and Christine was able to stare down at the perfection she and Raoul had created from their love.

She was a perfect miniature of Christine, except for her ears. Her eyes were the same chocolate brown, her face curved with the same delicate features. Her nose was a small version of Christine's, and her face was the same. Reaching out, Christine toyed with one of Emma's curls for a moment before climbing out of bed and tucking the covers around her daughter.

As she turned to go, Christine's eyes landed on an envelope which contained the letter she had received yesterday. She heaved a heavy sigh before opening it and reading it again, as if more times would make it less true.

The letter still in her hands, Christine stared at Emma again for a long time, and she felt the sharp stab of pain that she had felt ever since Raoul's death stronger than ever. She could feel Jacqueline's agony across the miles and the bustling city that separated them. As she was an investor in Jacqueline's new shop that she had opened the year before, Jacqueline had written that she felt obligated to tell Christine of the illness that had befallen her. A cancer had settled into her, and there was nothing to be done about it. She had been told previously that it was nothing. She had been told she had no more than six months left on earth...

Folding the letter, Christine put it back in the envelope and quietly placed it in a drawer. Before she left, she placed a gentle kiss on Emma's forehead. Then, she made her way out of the master suite and down the stairs for a cup of coffee.

Later that day, once Emma had awoken, Christine sat in the music room surrounded by volumes of Mozart, flipping through for a theme and variation on piano that she had wanted to learn. After a while, she gave up, and began to put the volumes back, one by one, until the room was returned to its normal pristine state.

A sigh escaped Christine's lips as she looked around. She was quite lucky that, after Emma's birth, Raoul had quietly, and without the knowledge of his family, rewritten his will. Most everything had gone to Christine. A trust fund and dowry had been set up for Emma. Both of their houses had been transferred to Christine's name, and Luc had been appointed the executor of Raoul's will. Upon finding that her son had left nothing for the family that had shunted his wife for so many years, his mother had turned cold toward Christine. Christine, for her part, felt the family were being insane to expect Raoul to give all his earned money to his family and leave his wife and daughter with nothing. Furious, Christine had sold the house in Rouen, which had been a give to Raoul and Christine and which held nothing but painful memories.

After distancing herself from the Chagny family, Christine had, with Luc's help, begun investing portions of her inheritance in various stocks and businesses. One of them had been Jacqueline Laroche's new shop, which was now thriving. A large amount of money remained in the bank, untouched and earning interest, but there was a steady source of income now, and Luc assured her that she was set for the rest of her life.

A soft knock on the door alerted Christine to the presence of her maid.

"Madame Cartier is in the entrance hall for you, madame."

Christine rushed past her maid and down the stairs to find Meg, her arms wrapped around herself, looking as if she had not slept. She knew Jacqueline would have alerted Meg to the situation. She also knew that Jacqueline had become as close a friend to Meg as Christine.

"God, Meg, you're soaked." Christine helped her friend out of her wet cloak. "You didn't walk here, did you?"

Meg shook her head, shivering, but she did not speak. The maid appeared again. "The fire's been lit in the parlor. Shall I bring some blankets and tea?"

Christine smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Amy, that would be quite welcome." Turning back to Meg, she wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her into the parlor, where a warm glow came from the fire.

Once Meg had stopped shivering and had been wrapped in blankets by Christine and Amy, and once she had been sipping tea for a bit, she finally spoke.

"Jacqueline came to see me this morning," she said softly. "She said she'd written you."

Christine squeezed Meg's hand. "I'm so sorry, Meg." She scooted closer on the divan. "You must be feeling terrible."

Her friend nodded, wiping tears from her eyes, and a small laugh escaped from her lips. "She told me I'm not allowed to cry. She said she's had a good life, and she's made her mark on the world." She rubbed her face, sighing heavily. "Said everyone has to go sometime, but I know she's scared. She's afraid Nadine will forget her."

Christine shook her head. "She won't be able to. Erik won't let her."

"She said that's what he told her."

"It's true."

"He's a good father," Meg said softly. "I suppose that's a good deal of comfort to her."

"I suppose." Christine sipped her tea before she spoke again. "I bought a house in Marseille."

This announcement did not seem to surprise Meg in the slightest. "Right on the sea, I assume."

"Would you expect anything else of me?" Taking another sip of her tea, Christine smiled at Meg. "You know it's my favorite place to be. In any case, I won't be leaving just yet. I have to order furniture, and I don't want to leave Paris until you're ready for me to."

"Until after Jacqueline is gone, you mean."

Christine stared into her tea. "Yes, I suppose that is what I mean. I don't want you to be alone. I know you have Luc, but you cannot surpass the understanding of a women."

Meg smiled gratefully, and they continued to sip their tea in silence.

_a/n I am very sorry, already, to see that Jacqueline is going to go. I have a plan, though, so don't hate me yet. As I said earlier, the rating change is (for now) for safety, but it's coming sooner or later, so I figured do it now. If you know me, you know I like me some boom boom. Leave me some lovin'!_


	6. DOUCEUR DE VIVRE

**CHAPTER 6—DOUCEUR DE VIVRE**

_**February 1880**_

Due to the weather and the promise that the trip into town would be miserable, Erik had decided to take the day off of work. Years ago, he would have done no such thing, but as Jacqueline became gradually worse, he was finding any excuse to stay at home to be at her side.

Today was a good day for Jacqueline. She briefly mentioned being tired, but she made herself comfortable in front of the fire in the sitting room, and was currently finishing a scarf she was knitting for Erik to wear to work. Next to her, Nadine was reading aloud to her, very slowly, making out the words with occasional help from her mother. Erik was reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_ for the sixth time, glancing up occasionally to stare at his wife.

Her appearance had changed drastically over the past few months. Already thin, she had lost a great deal of weight and now looked almost frighteningly skinny. There were bags under her eyes, although not from lack of sleep. She slept sometimes more than she was awake, and Erik knew that, even though she never spoke of it, she was in a great deal of pain. A less astute man may not have noticed it, but Erik saw the tiny grimaces when she stood after sitting for a long time, knew that she was sometimes short of breath from it. Often in her sleep, she could curl onto her side, holding her stomach as if she felt ill.

Today, he watched her, apparently well aside from her pale appearance. He knew, however, that the time would soon come that Jacqueline would be taken from him. The decision not to tell Nadine the severity of her mother's illness was a difficult one for the couple. She had been told that mother was ill and that that was the reason for her constant fatigue, but somehow, she seemed to have discovered her mother's dire situation. She was always at Jacqueline's side, offering to fetch her tea or books, playing songs for her on the piano, and showing off her new skills on the violin.

Nadine finished reading and closed the book, putting it in her lap. "Did I get everything right?"

Jacqueline smiled, running her hand over Nadine's hair. "Yes, darling, you did fine. Do you want dinner? I think Candice said something about soup."

"Then can I play my new Mozart song?"

"Only if you finish your dinner." Jacqueline smiled as she watched Nadine hop down and run from the library to wash up. She smiled over at Erik. "She's quite the little prodigy, Erik. You should be proud."

"As should you." He closed the book on Edmond's current predicament of being tossed into the Mediterranean and rose, stepping over to Jacqueline and helping her from her seat. "She learned all her manners from you."

"Thank God!" Jacqueline laughed weakly, leaning on Erik as he took her arm and led her out. "I'd be terrified if she learned them from you."

Erik forced a laugh—laughing was becoming more and more difficult with each pound that Jacqueline lost. She seemed to sense this, and she gave him a small nudge. "You have to laugh sometime, darling."

Dinner was quiet that evening. Jacqueline did not eat much, but watched as Nadine enjoyed two bowls of soup with bread. Erik ate, but only slightly more than Jacqueline. The windows rattled, and he glanced outside. It was dark now, but he could see snow rushing past outside.

"It's good you didn't go in today," Jacqueline said, "you'd have been stuck in town all night."

Erik nodded, taking another small bite of soup-dipped bread. "Not the best weather for traveling, I admit. Can you blame me for wanting to stay home with my beautiful wife and lovely daughter?"

Nadine giggled and and looked down at her empty bowl. "Now may I play for you?"

Jacqueline pushed her soup bowl away from her, and led Nadine by the hand. Erik remained seated, sensing that Jacqueline wanted to be alone with Nadine. She had, as of late, been letting Nadine have trinkets of hers that she had long since admired, which worried Erik. When he spoke to his wife, however, she waved a hand dismissively and said that it was because Nadine was old enough and smart enough to take care of delicate items.

The time spent sitting at the table was time that ticked by unnoticed by Erik. He had no idea of how long it was before Candice appeared to take away the dishes. He rose, silent, and made his way slowly upstairs. There was no sound of the piano, so he knew they were no longer in the music room. A glance into his daughter's bedroom proved him correct.

Nadine was climbing into bed, her hair hanging down over her shoulders, dressed in a thick white nightgown. She smiled.

"Tell me goodnight, papa."

Erik crossed the room and tucked the covers around her on one side, while Jacqueline did the same on the other. He pressed a kiss to his daughter's head, and stood back while Jacqueline sat down beside her, leading her in a nighttime prayer. When they were finished, Jacqueline kissed her, lingering at her hair for a moment before standing and turning down the light. She dropped on more kiss.

"I love you, mama."

"I love you more." She smiled down at Nadine. "Tell papa goodnight."

"Goodnight, papa. I love you."

He winked at her. "Don't let the monsters get you."

"I'm not scared of monsters," she said, snuggling into her comforter and closing her eyes. Erik and Jacqueline stood by her bed for a long time, and watched as she fell into a deep sleep.

A warm hand slipped into Erik's, and he kissed Jacqueline softly before leading her down the hall to their own room, where a warm fire waited for them.

They dressed for bed in silence, neither saying what was on their minds. When Erik turned down the light and climbed into bed, Jacqueline snuggled up against his side. She was quiet, and Erik was beginning to think she had fallen asleep when she spoke softly.

"I love you."

Her voice was barely audible, but it rang out in the silence of the bedroom like a shout. Her eyes were still closed, and she was breathing deeply, as if she had spoken to him from a dream.

"I love you, too." He held her a bit closer, not missing the smile that crossed her features.

"Sleep well."

"You, too."

Erik closed his eyes and let himself drift, held tightly in his wife's arms. He fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the mental torture of the day to day life he was living. His dreams were strange. In them, Jacqueline looked healthier than ever, but somehow Erik's dream-self knew that she was still sick. They went to the same beach on the Riviera that they had visited on their honeymoon. They walked quite a distance, talking about everything and nothing. It was so long of a walk that the sun began to set over the Mediterranean, and it was the most beautiful sunset he had ever seen. The sky was red and gold and purple, and it made Jacqueline's face glow even more beautifully, if it were possible.

"It's time to go home, Erik."

The tone of her voice and the mystical smile on her face spoke more than her words, and Erik wrapped his arms around her.

"I don't want you to go," he said, his voice sounding like a child's.

She smiled at him. "You'll see me again. Just remember—I love you. Kiss Nadine for me."

He kissed her one last time before she slipped from his fingers. She was flying through the air, disappearing into the sunset, and then she was gone. Night fell, and the day's warmth left. It was chilly, now, and he wrapped his arms around himself. He picked up a piece of driftwood and dragged it slowly along the fence.

It was the tapping of a tree on the window of the bedroom that woke Erik. He rolled his head to one side, identifying the noise before turning back over. He was almost asleep when he noticed that Jacqueline's arms, though still wrapped around him, were limp.

"Jacqueline?" He shook her slightly, but she did not stir. Normally, she would wake at the smallest sound or at a nudge from him before telling him to go away and going back to sleep. Lowering his head, he put his face in front of hers. The warm breath that normally brushed his face was not present. He felt her wrist for a pulse—there was none.

She was gone.

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Christine's sleep was interrupted quite rudely by her maid. Annoyed to have been woken from a pleasant dream about Raoul and Emma, she scowled as the other woman called out for her.

"I'm awake," she muttered. "What is it?"

"You've received an urgent message from Madame Laroche." She held out an envelope, which Christine took, frowning slightly. She opened it and read.

_My dear Christine,_

_I am sorry to say that, if you are reading this, then I am dead and gone. I began writing these letters last month, to close friends and to those who, like you, with which I wish I had been closer. Yours was one that I knew would present me with a challenge—how can I sum up our lives in a few words? I thought of giving you advice, but you are already familiar with the frailty of life. Then I thought I would make a request of you._

_Yes, my darling, life is frail and it can end as quickly as it began. However, you must understand that there is so much more to life than being afraid of death. It is our opportunity to enjoy all that that God has given us. The sweetness of life, my dear, is always living as if each day is your last. Then, when you wake up again, you realize that God has given you another day. Life is so much more than pain and trials. The pain and the trials are what makes the victories, however large or small, more enjoyable. Death is a natural part of life, whether or not the circumstances surrounding it are._

_I ask that you never forget to live._

_Yours in eternity,_

_Jacqueline Garnier-Laroche_

Christine cried, weeping for the beauty that had been lost, and for realizing the truth of the words of a dying woman.

The funeral was not public. Christine received an invitation from Erik on Jacqueline's behalf, and a week later, they all gathered in the freezing cometary. While they shivered as the priest blessed Jacqueline, Christine stared at Jacqueline's daughter, barely older than her own.

Her little hand held her father's much larger one, and she stared at the casket as the priest spoke. If Erik had been a woman and much younger, she supposed this is what he would have looked like. Her hair was dark like his, but curly like Jacqueline's. Her eyes were a bright green that matched her father's exactly, down to the flecks of hazel in them. She was crying silently, leaning against Erik's side as tears slid down his cheek.

Clutching Emma a bit closer to her, Christine took a deep breath and slowly let it go as the party began to disperse. Several of Jacqueline's friends gathered around Erik, hugging him and kissing Nadine.

His gaze shifted and met hers. Telling Jacqueline to wait with Meg, who was talking quietly with Luc, Erik made his way toward her.

She had forgotten how tall he was, and how strong his arms were until, as she wrapped hers around him, he embraced her slowly. For several minutes, she held him as he cried. Then he pulled away, looking down at her again.

"Does it get any easier?"

Christine's eyes watered, and she brushed the tears away as she forced a smile. "It never goes away, but you begin to realize that everything happens for a reason." Christine squeezed his arm before letting go, picking up Emma again. "I'm moving," she said softly. "When the weather clears up."

Erik nodded. "I was surprised you stayed in Paris as long as you did. I suspect I'll do the same, but not for a while. I'm not too anxious to uproot Nadine. Where are you headed?"

"Marseille." Christine put Emma down and directed her to the carriage, which was waiting a short distance away. As she watched her go, she said, "I want to go back to the sea. It's where I'm happiest. Besides," she gestured around her, "the weather here leaves something to be desired. I could use some warm weather and sun away from people that still expect me to wear black."

"Good luck," he said quietly.

Then she surprised him. Instead of embracing him again or simply turning away, she held out a hand. Slowly, he extended his, and she shook it, as if making a deal with him.

"Do good with her," she said, nodding to Nadine. "Meg's around if you need help." She smiled encouragingly. "You'll do wonderfully."

Then she turned away, climbed into her carriage with her daughter, and she was gone.

_a/n I am sorry to have done this, but I ask that you pay attention to the title... Be expecting a change in scenery._


	7. AVANT LE VOYAGE

**CHAPTER 7—AVANT LE VOYAGE**

_**August 1890**_

Few women had ever had Erik Laroche at their mercy quite as much as the young lady at his side. It was true that he despised Gilbert and Sullivan, but on their last trip to London, he had allowed himself to be dragged to _The Pirates of Penzance_, which had been one of the least engaging operas he had ever sat through.

Now, however, they had landed in Germany at the end of July, and she had pleaded that they stay to see something they would likely never have the chance to see anywhere else. He had agreed, although he was not normally a fan of these newer operas, and even though he knew that the orchestra was going to be far too large.

It was a testament to her taste that Erik found himself in Bayreuth through August and actually enjoying himself. This work of Wagner's was truly unlike anything he had ever seen. They left _Götterdämmerung _unable to stop talking back and forth on the subject of combining four operas into one massive production, and of the ingenuity of Wagner's work.

"So, you see, it required a huge orchestra. You can't feel the seat rattling under you from twelve people. It takes so much more than that! And did you see that tuba? I've never seen anything like it!"

"That was a tuba?" He smiled teasingly. "Looked like a horn."

"Shut up. I liked it better than _Aida_, even!"

"This from the woman who is going to make Giuseppina Sterpponi disappear so she can marry Verdi?"

"That is revolting! He's far too old to even think of that way!"

"Glad to see you know your limits." Erik wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Besides, you don't need any other man but me."

A pair of eyes that matched his own rolled as Nadine walked along side him. "I'm going to die a spinster," she said. "No man will want anything to do with me once he's met you."

"You're too young to be thinking of boys."

"I'm fourteen!" Nadine said indignantly. "I'm not too young for anything."

"You're too much for a lot of things." Erik yawned widely and glanced toward the west where the sun was setting. It was the perfect end to the perfect day. They had seen the last opera in _The Ring Cycle_, and it had been entertaining and wonderful time spent with Nadine. Tomorrow, they would make their way back the village just outside of Lille, to the house that held no sad memories, and they would settle back in to their normal life. Nadine would swim in the river and Erik would work, and the ladies of town would fawn over the handsome, mysterious widower whenever he came through town. In September, Nadine would leave until Christmas for school. Erik had schooled her himself until she was twelve, when he decided that, although she would likely learn nothing at any school due to her prior knowledge in everything from music to architecture, the social atmosphere would be good for her. He had been prove correct when she had come home quite the young lady, instead of the rough and tumble girl he had taken to Paris months earlier. He was happy, though, that her tastes in opera had not been changed. Verdi was still her favorite, and she still played piano beautifully.

Still, he sometimes wondered if she needed an older woman in her life. He was hesitant to remarry simply to give her a mother, but he was getting older, and soon she would have questions that he had no answers to. Meg was in Paris, busy with the shop, Luc, and their two children. Marie and Nadir had married three years ago and spent a great deal of time traveling. There were no other women that Erik could think of for her to go to for immediate advice. True, he had seen various women over the years, but none of them had been what he needed, or what Nadine would need. Additionally, none of them seemed to appeal to Nadine. He recalled once, when she was eight, a woman he had been seeing for some time had left after, during dinner, she had had a bug "dropped" in her hair by Nadine. Erik had punished her, but he had known at the same time that it was probably for the better.

Erik paused for a moment, wincing slightly at the stiffness in his leg. It had never truly healed after its injury when Nadine was four, and he still needed a cane from time to time so many years later. Today, he had left the bothersome device at the hotel, and now he wished he hadn't been so stubborn.

Nadine paused slightly ahead of him and turned, looking concerned. "Are you alright, papa?"

"Fine." Erik hobbled the rest of the way to where their horses were tied up under the watchful eye of Erik's butler. He struggled for a moment before he felt a pair of hands steadying him. Turning, he saw Nadine smiling at him. He rolled his eyes slightly and, with her help, climbed up onto the horse.

Nadine mounted her own and took off at a quick trot, glancing behind her. "Hurry up, old man, before the darkness gets us!"

Erik grinned wickedly at her, spurred his horse, and took off running. He heard Nadine's shout of indignation, then the pounding off hooves as she worked to catch up with him. She drew even with him, and he could see that, as usual, she had abandoned the idea of riding side saddle. At home, when no one was around, she would don a pair of Erik's pants, roll them up and belt them at her waist, then take off around their property. She was completely comfortable riding side saddle, but like her mother, she chose not to.

They reached the hotel quickly and returned the horses before heading back for dinner.

Dinner was always an event during which Erik could see Jacqueline in his daughter the most. She made pleasant conversation with the same wry sense of humor that Jacqueline had possessed mingled with the dryness of her father's. Her elbows stayed off the table, a napkin was placed gently in her lap, and she used all the silverware correctly and with the right course. She was still so young, a child in some ways, but she was growing up at a startling rate. From time to time, Erik wondered if all fathers felt this way about their daughters. Meg's daughter was still so young that he did not feel he could quite yet ask Luc.

At fifteen, though, boys were already starting to pay attention. Meg had told him that having her married at seventeen was going to be no problem. The thought was one that made Erik uneasy. As awkwardly as his career as a father had began, he had now perfected it to a profession and an art. Doubling as both parents, Erik often found himself doubly protective. He knew it drove Nadine to madness, but he wasn't able to help it. She was far too lovely for a girl who had just had her birthday a mere week prior. Already at the festival, she appeared to have acquired several admirers, among them the sixteen year old song of an English lord, a French lad with a passion for hunting and for expensive garments, and a boy from Norway who spoke barely any German or French but that seemed quite taken with her fortune.

Only one had sparked Erik's interest—a young German student, just turned seventeen, who was quite taken with Nadine's passion for the opera and the knowledge she had acquired surrounding anything and everything artful. Nadine had shunned all these young men, but the German one had been sitting next to them at the festival, and when Nadine ignored him, he chatted to Erik instead. Erik had learned that the boy's name was Felix. The younger of two sons, Felix studied at academy in Berlin, where he studied music, art, and literature. His father was Gunther Ehrlichmann, a self-made man who had moved to Berlin from the German countryside five years ago after working his way from the bottom and now managed a large bank in town that now operated under a wonderful reputation for fairness. Still, though, his boys were raised to believe that money was not something to be given as an award for genealogy—it had to be earned. While Felix's older brother worked as a low-down bank teller, Felix was free to study subjects of his choosing. He was impressively smart for his age, and Erik found himself actually learning new things about art, and of hearing of the newest stories. He would be moving to Paris soon to study composition and painting with the best resources one could find.

Erik speared a potato on the end of his fork. "So you thought _none_ of those young men good enough for you?"

"I have no interest in boys at this time," Nadine said stiffly. "I only care to immerse myself in my studying. So few young ladies have the opportunity to learn as I do, and I intend to use it to its fullest."

It was a rehearsed speech recited nearly verbatim every time Erik tried to bring up anything unrelated school—boys, parties, or even moving home. Erik was ready for it today, and his response was almost as rehearsed, only inside his head. "I'll admit that many of them were not nearly good enough for you. There was that one though... what was his name..." Erik pretended to think. "Friedrich, Fabian, something with an 'F'..."

"Felix," Nadine said through gritted teeth. "And don't pretend you don't remember his name—he talked to you all through intermission."

"Yes, but he only mentioned his name once or twice." Erik cut off a bit of steak. "Nice, honest young man. Moving to Paris, too." He smiled and popped the beef in his mouth.

"That's nice." Nadine abruptly pulled the napkin from her lap, dabbed her mouth, and stood up. "I'm quite finished, father. Would you mind terribly if I retired early?"

When had she ever backed down from a challenge? Taken aback, Erik only nodded as she turned, making her way quickly from the restaurant and back into the hotel. Chewing thoughtfully, he watched her leave and felt as if he were watching her grow away from him.

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Christine watched as Emma stared down at her folded hands. Her long curls were pinned back away from her face, and she glanced up briefly at the young man across from her before reaching for her tea and taking a sip. The soft rustle of silk as she moved was the only sound until the boy spoke again.

"I am quite glad you're coming to school in Paris, Lady de Chagny," he said. "You'll love Paris. It's such an amazing place."

"And if I make no friends? What then?" Emma looked back at her hands, folded in her lap again and resting on the pale blue of her dress.

"You have a friend in Paris," Anthony said, smiling. "Me."

Emma smiled weakly and took another sip of her tea. Christine turned back to the book in her hands. It was a collection of the poetry of Edgar Allen Poe, and Christine was not sure why it had been sent to her. It was morbid, to be certain, and perhaps that had been why he'd sent it to her. Missing his wife, again, perhaps. She smiled as she recalled the letter that had accompanied it. It was brief, more of a note, really, and she used it like a bookmark as she always did with the letters that accompanied the literature he sent her.

_Christine,_

_I feel that, in my current situation, I may cease to live. I find myself despising women at the moment and there are few who do not make me feel like drowning in Poe. Enjoy._

_Sincerely,_

_Erik_

She had not actually seen Erik in years, not since she had left Paris, in fact, but he continued to write to her as a friend. He sent her music and books and quotes that he came across that he thought she may enjoy, and she had come to view him as a valued friend over the years. Gone was the man who had threatened and terrified her, replaced by a doting father with a sardonic sense of humor. She found herself giggling, and the young pair at the other side of the room, beside the open window that looked down over the sloping lawn that led to a beach, stared at her.

"Ignore me," she said, returning to her book.

Anthony frowned. "You're reading Poe."

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Forgive me my lapse of manners," he said quietly. "I did not mean to sound insulting."

It was Emma who answered. "You didn't, sir."

They returned to their awkward silence.

Anthony Levesque was a young man certainly taken with the Lady de Chagny, as most young men were. Emma had turned down many suitors that had knocked at their door, but for some reason, allowed Anthony, quiet and seldom speaking Anthony, to court her. Christine knew that her daughter's beau was supremely polite and uninterested in her money—his family certainly had enough of their own. He was good looking with tousled brown hair and piercing blue eyes, tall and sturdy looking. At sixteen, he was a year and a half Emma's senior, and although he seldom spoke, Christine was quite sure that he would throw himself in front of a bullet if it meant saving Emma.

His passions seemed to be long walks down the beach and poetry, which he sometimes read to Emma. He played the cello moderately well, and favored Keats above all others. He spoke English fluently, as well as Italian and German, and a bit of Portuguese. Even after two months of courting Emma, he was still very formal, never referring to her by her first name in Christine's presence. She had only heard him call her Emma once, when she had briefly stepped out, but he had said it with such reverence that Christine had given them an extra minute alone without the presence of a chaperon before reentering the room.

They were silent for another hour at least, and Christine finished her book and set it down on the table in front of her. Emma looked up from her hands, still folded, and Anthony turned away from the window.

"Did you enjoy Poe, then?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not sure." Christine frowned at the book. "He is quite morbid. It's almost comical, really. I am not quite sure of the meaning behind it being sent to me."

"May I inquire as to who sent it?" Polite, as always, not wanting to pry.

Christine glanced at Emma, who had hardly spoken. "An old friend of Mama's," she said softly. "He lives Lille, now, but he used to live in Paris. Erik Laroche?"

"The architect?"

"The same." Emma took a sip of her tea. "Do you know him?"

"He owns the estate down the road from my parents' house in Lille." Anthony smiled, and Christine was surprised to see a bit of humor in his face. "An interesting man, Monsieur Laroche. I've only met him the two times—once at a dinner party thrown by my father, the other when his daughter was hiding in one of our trees."

Emma frowned, confused. "Why was she hiding up a tree?"

"She'd poured syrup in the hair of her father's companions and ran out of the house when he got angry. He actually thought it was funny. He was laughing when they left." Anthony smiled again. "I am sorry, my lady, but I must be taking my leave. My uncle will certainly sent the police looking for me if I do not return home soon."

Emma rose, and Anthony stood with her. "Will you visit again soon?"

He nodded. "I leave for Paris again in three days, but I shall come to see you once more before I go."

"I'll see you out."

Anthony nodded to Christine. "It was nice to see you again, viscomtess."

Christine smiled and nodded at Anthony as he stepped from the room, Emma following closely. She put the book on the shelf before slowly making her way out of the parlor. She paused at the doorway, out of sight, and stood as quietly as she could when she heard Emma's voice.

"Do you promise?" she was asking quietly. "It's only, I'm so nervous. I've never been around so many people at once. I've never shared a room with someone."

"It's not so bad." Anthony's voice was soothing. "I had the same roommate for two years, and we got along wonderfully."

"What if I don't like her?"

"Then you'll get a new one later. And you can talk to me about it. I'll be right down the road."

"Promise?" she asked again, and Anthony chuckled, a rare sound Christine seldom heard.

"I promise. Even if it's the middle of the night and you think you'll kill her, I'll figure something out so you can be happy."

She peeked around the corner to look at them. They were about a foot apart, and Anthony held one of her tiny hands in his larger one. She was staring up at him, her face anxious, and his blue eyes gazed back with adoration. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her fingers.

"Happy birthday, Emma," he said softly, then he turned and, with a little wave, was gone.

Christine pulled back, smiling. Of course they would appear so formal but be so cute when they thought they were alone. Perhaps when he visited in a few days she would have to feign a headache to give them some time alone. She hated the thought of chaperoning them, but it was a necessity to avoid talk in town.

Setting her face into a neutral expression, Christine stepped around the door frame and into the entryway. The door was still open and Emma was watching Anthony ride off down the long lane toward his uncle's home in town.

"Do you want dinner?" Christine asked softly. Emma nodded and began to close the door. "No, leave it open. It's too warm in here, anyway." Christine wrapped an arm around Emma's shoulders. "Come on."

"Mama, why do I have to go to school? I have a tutor."

"I want you to be sociable," Christine said.

"But I'm not rude or anything."

"I know, dear. You're just so quiet around strangers that they continue to be strangers for a long time. I don't know how you manage to attract so many boys when you never talk to a one of them."

"I talk to Anthony."

"He's the exception, but you know what I mean." Christine let go of Emma as they entered the dining room. "I want you to be a functioning young lady with other young ladies of your own age. And your Aunt Meg and I don't count," she added as Emma opened her mouth to argue.

"What if I hate it? I've never spent more than a few days in Paris." Emma toyed with her fork. "What if my roommate hates me?"

"Your roommate will not hate you. You just have to talk to her is all."

Emma cringed, and Christine was reminded of her decision to send her only child to school at all. It was difficult for Christine to move on with her life when her daughter was so docile. The few men Christine had seen over the years never heard much more than "hello" and "goodbye" from Emma, and Christine had been able to see her daughter's discomfort as clearly as the stars on a moonless, cloudless night.

It wasn't that Christine was looking for marriage, even. She was just lonely. Lately, she found herself frequently missing Raoul, more so than usual. She missed his presence at night, when she was alone in her bed, most of all. Meg had promised to set her up with someone if she ever visited Paris, but Christine did not want to thrust that upon Emma. If Emma was in school, perhaps she would visit sometimes. Perhaps Meg would find her someone to keep her company.

Emma seemed to be able to read her thoughts. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I know it must be a burden for you, to have to push me into conversations. I've just never been much good at carrying on conversation with anyone but you."

Christine squeezed Emma's hand. "You are _not_ a burden to me, Emma." Emma looked up hopefully. "You're still going to school, though."

"You'll be so far away."

"I'll visit more often. We have that flat we never use—I can stay there. And Anthony is there, too, don't forget."

"I know," Emma sighed, ans with resignation, she cut into her food.

_a/n I have traveled many miles. I fought an evil beast and lost (my online class). I battled with an evil being and triumphed after many long nights of warring (LiveText online portfolio). I was chased by monsters (adorable third graders). I came. I saw. I conquered. Then I got my ass kicked._

_Sorry for the lack of updates. It's been a rough semester. I'm on break now, so I'll see what I can get done in the next month._


	8. LES OPPOSÚX ATTIRENT

_a/n Typo—I wrote in the last chapter that Nadine was fourteen. She is actually fifteen at this point. You know I'm a moron._

**CHAPTER 8—LES OPPOSÚX ATTIRENT**

Madame Gaston's had slowly become a living hell for Emma. One month into school, it was exactly as she had predicted. She was far too shy to make many friends, and she only really talked to her suite-mate, Michelle. However, Michelle was a year older and spent a lot of time with the many beaus that fawned and fought over her. She was a successful student, thriving in all her classes, especially music.

The only thing keeping her from writing home was what she was currently waiting for. Anthony came in the main door of the dormitories wearing a small smile. Under the watchful eyes of her chaperon, a woman named Giselle who wore too much rouge on her face and dressed in a style appropriate of a woman thirty years her junior, Emma made her way down the staircase, smiling back at him.

"You look lovely," he said, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a small kiss there.

Emma felt her cheeks flush. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded, pulling her cloak a bit tighter around her. The October air was beginning to chill, and Emma was so used to the warm breezes of the Mediterranean that they felt positively frigid. Anthony held the door fer her and Giselle and she took his arm as they stepped down the steps.

The streets were fairly empty as they walked, speaking occasionally about school and classes they were taking. Emma felt a sharp pang of jealousy as Anthony spoke of his friends and their interesting lives. One had recently begun courting a young lady at his parents' request and was trying to find a way out of it. Apparently, she was quite lovely and without a brain in her head.

"Not like you," he mused. "You're as bright as you are lovely."

"That's all, though." Emma sighed heavily. "I feel it is as if no one will even talk to me."

Anthony pulled her arm a bit tighter around his, resting his hand on hers. "You just have to find your nitch," he said. "You'll start making friends."

"I hope you're correct."

They walked silently for several minutes, the only sound around them on the walk way their footsteps shadowed by Giselle's. Emma was glad, once again, that she had Anthony. At least he wanted to be her friend.

As they reached the dormitories again, Anthony spoke. Giselle walked past them to stand inside, but she peered through the glass, nosy and annoying as ever.

"Felix is going to the opera tomorrow night," he said softly. "He gets to use his father's box whenever he likes. He wanted to know if we would care to accompany him." He leaned a bit closer, a twinkle in his eyes. "We wouldn't have to take the old hag," he whispered conspiratorially.

Emma giggled. "What's the ?"

"_Aida_." He laughed again. "It was the only way Felix could lure this girl out. He's head over heals for her, but she's quite against the idea of seeing anyone. No idea why." He rolled his eyes. "In any case, she'd mentioned loving Verdi, and he's seizing his chance."

"Oh." Emma glanced at the glaring face of Giselle for a moment before she nodded. "I would love to go with you and... who are we going with?"

"Felix. He's my roommate." He raised Emma's hand to his lips again, kissing her fingers softly before releasing them. "Tomorrow, then. We'll meet you here. Six o'clock."

"Tomorrow."

The next day was Saturday, and it was slow for Emma. She finished all her schoolwork and set about picking out a gown for the evening. Michelle, who seldom spoke to her, looked up from a book she was reading as Emma brought out a black gown and lay it across the settee to let it air out, careful of the bead work.

"That's very pretty," she said, her eyes raking over the gown with a mixture of longing and appreciation. "Where are you going?"

"The opera," Emma said, glancing over at Michelle out of the corner of her eye. "Anthony is meeting me at six."

"You're not going alone, are you?"

"No." Emma arranged the train so that it was flat. "He's bringing his roommate and his roommate is bringing a girl, as well." She frowned down at the dress. Usually, this was something her mother helped her with.

"Is something wrong with your dress?" Michelle put down her book and came over to examine the expensive silk.

"No," Emma said slowly. Perhaps... "Here." She hurried into her room and came back a moment later with two pairs of gloves. "Do you think white or black?"

"You really want my opinion?" Michelle seemed honestly surprised when Emma nodded. "I think the black. The white would almost be too flashy, especially with all the beading. Who did this?"

"It's a Jacqueline Garnier."

Michelle's eyes widened as she recognized the dressmakers' name. "Wow! Those are so expensive. They're the most luxurious. You know, they say the people that design them are only people trained by Jacqueline herself."

"It's true. My mother's friend was very close friends with Jacqueline and helped run one of her shops in Paris."

"Who?"

"Meg Cartier?"

Michelle gasped. "Oh, she's divine! She's a fashion genius! And she's so elegant! My mother has met her at parties, of course, and she said that she is so beautiful and so daring!" Michelle spun excitedly, landing back in her chair. "And her husband... He's Papa's lawyer. He's so dreamy."

Emma couldn't help giggling at the thought of a girl her age swooning over Luc. Michelle didn't seem to notice. "What's Madame Cartier like in real life? Is she always so elegant?"

"Usually." Thrilled at the idea of conversing with a girl her own age, Emma moved to the fire and set some water to boil for tea. "She wears clothes from all over the world, too. Her mother travels a lot with her husband and they always bring Aunt Meg—"

"You call her 'Aunt Meg?'"

"She and my mother have been very close friends since they were children. Anyway, her mother and her husband travel a lot and she's always wearing some exotic thing around the house. She came to visit a few months before I left for school and I think she spent the entire time in Chinese silk, except for when we went out." Emma had been searching through her trunk for something while she talked, and victorious, she pulled out a little tin. She held it out for Michelle to see. "Here. It's tea from China."

"Really?" Michelle stared into the tin and took a small sniff. Her eyes closed. "It smells amazing."

"Would you care for some?"

Michelle nodded. She was silent as Emma prepared the tea, seeming to think about something. Finally, she spoke. "You're quite quiet for someone with such interesting family."

Emma sipped at her tea, considering this. Growing up, it was true she had been surrounded by an interesting crew. Her mother was a former opera diva turned investor who was on good terms with one of the best architects in Europe; her aunt and uncle were the crème-de-la-crème of Paris society; Marie and Nadir traveled the world when they weren't in Paris with Meg. Her own clothes were as ranged in variety as Meg's were. She owned several kimonos, a wrap dress from India, a Persian robe with matching slippers, and a variety of comfortable dresses from Greece that did not require corsets. She had a more interesting life than she'd ever realized. Strange, that she had needed to leave home to see this.

"I've never had many friends my own age," Emma admitted. "That's why Mama sent me to school. She wanted me to be socialized."

They finished their tea, and the conversation was light. They discussed school, clothes, and what Emma was planning to do with her hair that evening. Michelle offered the services of a friend of hers who could do anything with anyone's hair, and Emma had so much hair that she was glad for any help.

The girl whose help had been offered swooped in around five. She was tall and tan, with green eyes and dark curls that were pinned elegantly on the top of her head. She, like Emma, wore a ball gown. Hers, however, made even Emma's dress pale in comparison. It was a midnight blue, off the shoulders, and hugged her every curve dangerously. Silver accents in the bodice drew attention to it, and she looked far too old to be at school with them. The girl grinned deviantly at Michelle, and the dimples that appeared only made her more beautiful.

"My papa doesn't know about this one," she said, spinning. "I picked it up this morning. If I'm going to be dragged to the opera against my will, I'm going to knock that German boy flat on his ass!"

"Nadine!" Michelle covered her mouth. "You simply must watch your language!"

The beautiful girl, Nadine, rolled her eyes. "You'd swear, too, if you were raised by my papa."

"To be raised alone by a man," Michelle said, looking scandalized. "It's amazing you don't run about in slacks."

"Who says I don't?" Nadine turned away from Michelle and appraised Emma, who suddenly felt quite plain in the presence of this exotic beauty. "That's a Jacqueline Garnier dress," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Emma squeaked.

"It's a perfect fit on you," she said, suddenly all business. "The cut is just right. Did Meg do that one?"

"Yes," Emma said again. Did she not know any other words?

"She did a fabulous job. It's so easy to let black go flat and boring, but she makes it look wonderful. It's very flattering on you." She steered Emma into a chair in front of her vanity. "Now... I suppose you need help with this." Laughing, Nadine hefted Emma's hair. "You've got as much hair as I do! You poor girl."

Emma smiled weakly. "It does get very warm in summer."

"It's a saving grace in the winter, though," Nadine said. "Keeps your head wonderfully warm." Then, she went to work, her hands flying everywhere at once, pinning Emma's curls up in a style similar to her own, only a bit more elegantly, if it were possible. She turned Emma in her seat when she was done and began to go at her face with a powder puff, then a bit of makeup. When she pulled her in front of the full length mirror several minutes later, Emma barely recognized the beautiful girl in the mirror.

Her hair was twisted and piled in the most elegant style she had ever seen. Her eyes were framed by thick lashes and her lips were deep crimson. Her face was smooth and her cheeks rosy pink. The dress, which had been elegant before, now looked right on her. Diamonds glittered at her throat, a gift from her mother—she couldn't remember putting them there, and assumed that Nadine had added them at some point. Something in her hair sparkled, too, and Emma realized that it was pins with crystals on them.

"There." Nadine appraised her with pride. "You look lovely. You can say it, I won't mind. I know I'm a genius." She fanned herself dramatically, then winked. "I have to get going. I'm supposed to be down there in five minutes." She grimaced.

"Emma's meeting someone at six, too!" Michelle said excitedly. "You can walk down together!"

"Where are you off to?" Nadine asked, by way of conversation, it seemed.

"The opera. We're going to _Aida_ with Anthony's roommate and a girl he's accompanying."

Nadine's green eyes sparkled with mischief. "I see. Well, we'd better get going. Best to not keep the boys waiting too long." She reached for her clutch—it was studded with diamonds—and waved at Michelle. "Brunch tomorrow, yes?"

"Of course." Michelle smiled at Emma. "You look beautiful, Emma."

"Thank you."

They walked down the hall in silence, Emma not sure what to say to this strange girl. She carried herself with an air of elegance that almost bordered on arrogance, but it was pride. It was as if Nadine knew that the girls they passed eyed her jealously. The school was full of girls from wealthy families, but it was clear that Nadine was one of the wealthiest.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Emma could see Anthony, dressed in a splendid tuxedo, waiting for her at the bottom. He stared up at her in wonder, and she smiled back at him. Next to him, his roommate, Felix, stared up at both of them, but he seemed to have eyes only for Nadine. When they reached the bottom, he reached out for Nadine's hand. She held it out, her face hard as he pressed his lips to the back of her gloved hands.

"Mademoiselle Laroche, you look splendid this evening." His voice held a heavy German accent. "You are truly a gem."

"I hope, for your sake, you are interested in more than my looks," she said haughtily, although Emma could see the way the other girl's cheeks flushed with pleasure at the sincere compliment.

Anthony was there a second later, kissing her hand and pulling her arm through his. As they walked out, Felix and Nadine behind them, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Words cannot accurately describe your beauty tonight, my lady. You are beautiful." His words were filled with wonder and affection. Emma felt her cheeks flame. He smiled kindly down at her. "Shall we?"

Emma nodded, glancing back at Nadine. Felix's eyes were glued on her, and she took the opportunity to mouth, "You're going with us?"

Nadine winked.

It had been a long time since Emma had been to an opera, and she had never been in Paris. She stared around in wonder from their box at the lavish décor.

"Do you like it?" Next to her, Nadine was reading over her program, not paying any attention to her surroundings.

"It's beautiful."

"My mother's uncle was the architect."

"Your mother seemed to greatly appreciate good architecture," Anthony said, polite as ever. "Your house is truly a work of art. Was it not your father who built it?"

"From the ground up," Nadine said proudly, looking up for the first time. "My room was modeled after my mother's tastes. Everything in shades of blue." She sighed wistfully, then glanced around the theater for the first time. Her eyes caught on something, and she squinted. Then she gasped and slumped down in her seat. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Of all the nights..."

"Nadine?" Emma rested a hand on the other girl's arm. "Are you quite alright?" She had buried her face in her hands, and the other three looked around in confusion. Suddenly, Anthony's eyes widened.

"Is he with the Countess de Rouen?"

Nadine growled, sitting up and glaring across the theater. "I _despise_ that woman," she muttered mutinously. "She has the most obnoxious laugh I've ever—"

On cue, a shrieking laugh carried across the theater. Emma looked toward its source.

The first thing she was was Meg and Luc in a box directly across from them, looking massively uncomfortable as they stared straight forward. Behind them in the same box was seated a woman wearing the most ostentatious gown Emma had ever seen. It was garish—red and black—and pushed her generous bosom up almost inappropriately. Her graying brown hair was piled on top of her head and circled by a jeweled tiara. Diamonds glittered on most of her fingers and at her neck. She laughed again, shrieking, and the man at her side winced slightly, forcing a pained smile. He was older than Meg and Luc, that much was clear, and there were a few streaks of gray in his hair. Still, he was as dashing as a man twenty years his junior. A white mask covered half of his face. The other side was breathtakingly handsome. He wore a finely cut suit and white gloves.

This must be Nadine's father, her mother's friend, Erik Laroche.

She had no more time to study the strange, beautiful man, as the lights dimmed and the overture began.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Erik was not sure how much he was meant to endure, as far as torture, as the opera dragged on. Normally, Verdi was something he enjoyed. However, being set up with the Countess de Rouen was making Verdi's long work seem like a hell of Meg's making. Early on in the show, he had decided that everyone in the room was staring at this insane woman, and Erik had focused harder on the opera than he ever had before.

By intermission, he was considering jumping off the balcony into the pit and begging the lead cellist, who he recognized from years before as someone who actually liked him, to kill him and put him out of his misery.

As the lights came up, he excused himself, saying that he would hurry back, but the Countess did not seem to notice. She was busy regaling Meg with some story from her youth about the opera.

Erik rushed into the hallway, grabbing champagne from a waiter as he passed and downing it in one. Just as he reached for another, he felt a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of his head. He turned.

Several feet behind him, Nadine was glaring at him as if trying to shoot him down with her green eyes that matched his. He frowned.

"It's nice to see you, too."

"What," she hissed through clenched teeth, "are you doing here with _that woman_?" She looked so furious that Erik actually took a step back.

"I didn't know she was coming," he said defensively. "I would have made myself sick to stay home if I'd known she was going to be here."

Nadine laughed derisively. "I'm sure," she growled. "I'm sure that insane dress she's got on has noting to do with it."

For the first time, Erik noticed what she was wearing, and he frowned. "Speaking of over revealing clothing, I hope you brought a wrap."

She glared again. Her eyes were green fire as she turned on her heal and stomped away from him dramatically. The figure had come from her mother, certain, but the dramatic flair was all him.

Back in the box, he glanced around for his daughter. She was sitting in a box across from his, and he was happy to see that Felix had taken him on his advice to take out his sometimes shrew-like daughter, and she was sitting at his side, hissing into the ear of a girl with curly brown hair. The girl wore a less revealing but no less lovely dress of black silk, obviously another of Meg's creations. He tapped Meg on the shoulder, and pointed. "Who's that girl she's with?"

Meg's face lit up with recognition. "Oh, I'm so glad she's out with Anthony! They're such a darling couple!" She smiled brightly. "That's Christine's daughter, Emma."

"Oh!" The Countess squealed unexpectedly at his side, and both of the winced. "Do you mean your friend, the Viscomtess de Chagny? Her daughter, Lady Emma?"

"The very same," Meg said stiffly.

"Oh, what a jewel! So very much in the likeness of her mother. Just lovely." Finally, something he agreed with the woman on. "I hear she is quite polite. So quiet, though. If she's out with Erik's girl, that won't last long, eh, Erik?" She nudged him with her elbow and he forced another smile. "Such a tragic young lady, to have lost her father so young. Don't they live in Nice now?"

"Marseille," Erik and Meg corrected automatically.

"Oh, Marseille, Nice—they're so close, does it matter? Anyway, it's a shame they had to move so far away. She was such a lovely woman, Christine. I hear she's quite the spinster now. Never leaves the house, I hear."

"What you hear, my dear Countess, is lies," Luc said. His teeth were gritted—he seemed to want to pummel this woman as much as Erik did. "Christine de Chagny is a dear friend of ours, and it would be appreciated if you would keep such falsities to yourself. Christine is, I can assure you, in excellent health. She merely keeps to herself and puts Emma's needs above her own. Her needs have never seemed to require a replacement for her father, so Christine does not spend all her free time throwing herself at any available man that comes along, unlike some widows deem necessary."

The Countess looked positively scandalized at Luc's outburst. Any other woman would have taken the cue to shut her mouth, but not this one. "I have never been so insulted," she gasped, fanning herself with a fan as brightly colored as her dress. "I, my dear sir, would never imply anything about the virtue of anyone! How dare you!"

Luc crossed his arms and muttered something under his breath about her virtue, and the Countess stood up suddenly.

"I know when I'm not wanted," she said dramatically. In the box in front of them, the couple that occupied it turned to stare. "I will not sit here and be insulted by the likes of you, Monsieur Cartier! Good night!" And with that, she stomped out of the box.

She had been gone all of a minute before Meg began giggling. She buried her face in her husband's shoulder as he shook with silent mirth. Erik chuckled into his fist. The three of them giggled through the rest of the show to the annoyance of those around them.

_a/n I love breaks. I love no homework. It's extremely liberating. I am a free woman! Freedom from those who have imprisoned me! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (spins in circles) I have time to sleep again! R/R_


End file.
